


Trials in Purgatory

by Rehfan



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - Ian Fleming, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, Canonical Character Death, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, Gaslighting, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Movie Spoilers, Panic, Post-Skyfall, Tension, Trapped, Wakes & Funerals, high speed, tube trains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-14 05:10:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehfan/pseuds/Rehfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Bond is being tested. But this test is not under Q's direct control.</p>
<p>Things go sour fast.</p>
<p>Can Q rescue Bond?</p>
<p>(Eventual 00Q.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story will contain SPOILERS for "Skyfall"!!
> 
> If you have not seen the film, PLEASE GO DO SO as it's pretty freaking awesome!

“This is a Central Line train to Hainault via Newbury Park.”

There was ringing in his ears as he orientated himself to his environs. The lights above flickered. A memory of a voice came to him as the room rocked and swayed: “It’s a test, Bond,” Q had said. “We need to test out your reaction to various circumstances and stimuli.”

Bond had thought it all highly unnecessary. He must have had a defiant look on his face because Q had followed it up with: “Just do it, 007; the faster started, the faster ended.”

Bond didn’t ask further, just took the glass from Q’s hand and drank the stuff down. He remembered it tasting awful, and then he didn’t remember anything.

“The next station is: Tottenham Court Road. Change here for the Northern Line.”

The carriage swayed as it gathered speed. His head felt heavy, his thoughts thick. Get on your feet, you bastard! He was gathering his strength to roll over. His elbow was sore as he balanced on it. He didn’t remember injuring it. He didn’t even remember how he got on the train to begin with.

He was on all fours now and swaying. Bracing hands against the floor, Bond found that lifting his head took a super-human effort. He wondered what they drugged him with. His eyes fell on the back of the car where the driver would be. The door was shut but there was a small window to either side. He had to stop the train. He had to figure out where he was.

The train was slowing. Good. He may not have to find a way into the control booth. The overly-pleasant automated voice chirped in a mellow female tone: "The next station is: Tottenham Court Road. Change here for the Northern Line.”

Tottenham Court. This could be good or bad. If this was just about James getting to the street level in his drugged state, it was good. If there was a bomb aboard this train and he had only a set amount of time to diffuse it, it would be catastrophic. The train came to a halt as Bond struggled to remember the parameters of his mission here. No, it wasn’t a mission. It was a training exercise. No one could possibly get hurt. It was just a test. Bond felt his blood pressure lessen as he reasoned things out.

He shook his head a bit too hard; his vision blurred. The doors opened and the sickly sweet voice said: “This is Tottenham Court Road. This is a Central Line train to Hainault via Newbury Park.”

He attempted to stand and wavered violently on his feet, barely catching a central pole for balance. Hand-holding his way along, he just reached the doors when they snapped closed on him. He pressed the button, but was knocked off his feet again when the train continued its journey. The Voice was back: “The next station is: Holborn.”

“Bloody fucking Christ!” he said aloud as he fell. He had attempted to catch himself, but his reaction time was not what he expected it to be. He missed the bar completely and stumbled backward into one of the open seats on the opposite side of the carriage. He took a breath and tried to clear his head. What did Q tell him? This was a test of his reactions to certain stimuli. Presumably one of those was finding out his recovery time from the drug they gave him. So far, Bond would give himself low marks indeed.

He braced his hands to either side of his knees and tipped his head forward. He was dizzy, a bit nauseous, and his ears were ringing a bit still. He looked toward the opposite end of the carriage and into the carriage beyond. There were people there. Curious, he got up for a better look.

Hand over hand along the upper support bar to the vertical bars at mid-carriage and back up to the upper bar to the end, he made his way slowly along the carriage to stare into the rear car. Dummies. Manniquins. Dressed as people would do. All shapes and sizes. Some even different colors. Wigs and all. Jesus… who would go to such extremes?

With a sour chuckle, Bond thought: Q would. He could hear him in his head: “We have to be as accurate as possible with these tests, 007. Otherwise what good is the data gathered?”

He rested his head against the cool metal bar in his hand and tried not to be sick from the slight rocking the train made as it went around a bend in the track. After a bit, he felt the train slowing again. The Voice was back once more: “This is Holborn. This is a Central Line train to Hainault via Newbury Park.”

Bond waited for the doors to open at his end of the train. He was only four feet away from it and prepared fling himself onto the platform if it were necessary. The doors at the front and mid-portion of the train carriage opened with a soft tone. His doors did not.

Cursing, he stumbled toward the mid-carriage doors only to have them snap shut on him just as he was about to exit. The button to open them didn’t work again. Probably all part of Q’s bloody buggering test. God damn him.

Bond had had enough. He was sick and tired and he hadn’t even done anything. He had never felt old a day in his life until now. Whatever test they were performing, Bond had his fill. He shouted: “Q! Hey, Q! You can stop this now. I’ve had it. Get one of your Q Branch flunkies to work out the kinks of this test. I’ve got better things to do.” He gave Q a moment to respond. The only voice he heard was The Voice: “The next station is Chancery Lane.”

This time he was braced up against the bar and wall partition so he didn’t do much but sway when the train began its journey once more. “Do you hear me, Q?” Bond shouted. He was about to get properly angry now. “God damn it, Q, respond!”

Did he have an earwig in? Did they give him one? He felt both his ears. Nothing. Damn and blast. But if he didn’t have an earwig, there was another means of communication. Surely he was being monitored. Bond looked around carefully. There had to be a hidden camera somewhere that he could wave and scream abuse at. He held the handrails carefully as he inched his way around the perimeter of the carriage. Adverts, tube maps, and more adverts caught his eye; nothing about them was untoward or meddled with. There were four vents for air circulation within the car. He peered into the slats, but came up with nothing. He sat near the mid doors and looked carefully at the seats.

“This is Chancery Lane,” said the Voice and Bond flinched. It was fucking spooky when you were on your own with nothing but the sound of a rail car’s wheels on the steel rails, whining and screeching, the lights flickering intermittently, the shake of the whole thing… and then that Voice coming from everywhere at once, echoing like the last remnant of a forgotten civilization, reminding you that once there were others like you but they were all dead, a distant memory; it was as if Bond were the only man alive on earth.

“Purgatory,” said Bond aloud. That’s what this was like: Purgatory. Like waiting for a tube stop that would never come up, this journey was just one big loop of useless waiting. It made Bond irritated. He decided that if he were prevented again from leaving the car, he would continue his search for the cameras. There had to be cameras here somewhere.

He stood and prepared again to leave the car via the mid-carriage doors. All slid open except for the one he was standing in front of. He didn’t have the energy to head toward the front or the rear doors, and judging from his previous results, he wouldn’t have made it in time anyway. Bastards. He sighed and resumed his search, checking in-between the cushions and in the corners of the windows.

This was going to be a long assignment.

 

~080~

 

“How’s our boy doing, Q?” asked M. He peered over Q’s shoulder at the main screen and watched Bond as he attempted to exit the train for the second time.

“As well as can be expected, sir,” replied Q.

“Mmm,” M hummed thoughtfully and patted Q on the shoulder. “Well, let me know what your findings are as soon as you’ve got usable data.”

“Absolutely, sir,” said Q. “Although sir…”

M turned in the doorway and cocked a curious head at Q. “What is it?”

“As I tried to tell you before,” said Q nervously, “the AI system that the train operates on hasn’t been fully tested, you know.”

“I do,” said M. “Which is why we’re testing it here. I never want anyone to be able to hack into our trains like Silva did. The man was a menace and we lost more than one good agent because of him. Hell, we almost lost Bond. We’re testing both the AI and Bond with this. It’s very important that this go well. And if it doesn’t, it’s important that we’re able to find out what the bugs are and kick them out of the programming—“

“But sir-“ interrupted Q.

“But nothing, quartermaster,” said M. “You’ll be killing two birds with one stone with this project: fixing up an impregnable AI and fixing up Bond. Get back with me once you have data.” And with that, he turned and left Q Branch.

Q sighed and watched the monitors. “Please get out of there, Bond,” he said softly to himself. “And try not to get yourself killed.”


	2. Chapter 2

Bond continued his search past stations for Chancery Lane and St. Paul’s. There was no camera hidden anywhere that he could locate along the seats or the floors. This was ridiculous. He resolved to stop this train.

His head was better, but not perfect as he stormed his way up the car toward the door to the control booth. Hand over hand he went until he reached the small window to one side of the door and beat upon it before looking through. One glance told him that this was no ordinary Tube Stock train. The cabin was empty. Even the door at the very front was missing.

Where the driver was supposed to be, there was a blank dashboard with a single interface flat screen. Bond couldn’t read the writing that scrawled across it, but he could guess: it was a listing of all the stations that were about to come up along the track. Past the monitor, the headlamps illuminated the tunnel ahead. For a split second he recalled being in the tunnel and trying in vain to push through a door to chase Silva.

“Put your back into it,” Q had said.

“You come down here and put your back into it,” he grumbled aloud and permitted himself a short chuckle. What he wouldn’t give to have that sprite talking in his ear right now. He was mystified as to why Q wouldn’t give him an earwig. This was a test of his reflexes, fine, but if he couldn’t report about how he was feeling, what was going through his head, what was the point? Sighing, he attempted the door. As he suspected; it was locked. He looked around for something slender and metal with which to pick the lock, but came up empty. Unless…

He headed for the rear of the train and barely registered the Voice as she said: “This is Bank Station. Change here for the Waterloo and City line.”

He managed to pass the mid-carriage doors just as they opened. Curiously, they closed as he approached and re-opened once he was past them, the end doors closed when he approached. There was a sensor at work somewhere that shut the doors automatically if he got near them. Either that, or someone at Q Branch was taking the piss. “When I get my hands on you, Q…” Bond muttered as he reached the door at the very back of the carriage.

If he could get it and its twin open, this door would allow him access to the mannequins in the aft car. If Q was as thorough as he had hoped, one of those fake women would have a nail file or a bobby pin, something, anything to help him gain access to the driver's control booth up front. He pushed the button that should have opened it. Nothing happened. Big surprise. Unlike the side doors of the carriage, this one was a single door and there was virtually nothing to allow him to easily push the door aside. He struggled with all his might and made no progress.

The train sped on.

This was stupid. And it was getting more and more asinine the further this little experiment went. Bond spun around to face the carriage. “That’s enough, Q! Jesus Christ! Let me out, will you?!” he shouted. “I’ve had enough! When I see you again, quartermaster, I’m going to ring your ruddy neck!”

The train brakes screeched and whined and Bond lurched backward at the sudden deceleration, landing hard against the door behind him, his wind knocked from his body, his head striking the window of the door with a painful thud.

It took Bond about a minute to get his equilibrium back. “You little shit,” he said. “What the hell did you do that for?”

“This is a Central Line train for Ealing Broadway. The next station is St. Paul’s,” said the Voice.

“Fuck you,” growled Bond. That Voice was beginning to get on his tits.

Right, Bond thought, fuck this. If Q wants to see him go ape-shit barmy, he would give the little boffin a show he wouldn’t soon forget. Bond slowly rose from the floor and stood right in front of the twin side doors that he knew wouldn’t open. Then he waited.

Outside the window, the tunnel opened up a bit and the station appeared. Bond reached his hands up and buried his fingers as close to the rubber seal between the doors as he could get. He was going to bust out of this situation if it took him all night and six million more changes of direction for this train.

“This is St. Paul’s,” said the Voice.

The station went by in a blur. The train never even slowed down.

“This is a Central Line train for Ealing Broadway. The next station is Chancery Lane.”

Fuck.

Bond dug his fingers into the rubber seal. Stopped or not, this door was going to be his egress from Purgatory, he didn’t care if he had to—

He was on his back on the floor; his fingers tingled and screamed in red agony. His feet did too. He stared up at the lights above him as they came back on, flickered, and remained steady. His breath was labored. His dizziness was back. The ringing in his ears was back.

He looked up at the door as if it would tell him what the hell just happened. Finally, his brain caught up: electrified. The goddamn doors were electrically sealed.

“Q,” he moaned helplessly. He was exhausted all over again. “Get me out of this and I’ll kiss you on the mouth.” He passed out.

 

~080~

 

“When I see you again, quartermaster, I’m going to ring your ruddy neck!”

Q almost spit tea all over his monitor. No, no, no, he thought. The program responded immediately to the threat. The AI stopped the train and reversed direction, causing Bond to fall backward and bash his head against the door. Q winced when he saw it happen.

“You idiot,” he mumbled, but his face was all concern. He knew this would be difficult for Bond. The psychological damage that an agent can suffer from is bad enough without practically reenacting the triggering event. And to trap him inside without weapons or recourse, to thwart every attempt at escape; it was almost cruel.

Silva had been a clever bastard though: programming the radio frequency to blow the tunnel open just in time for a completely unmanned, computer-operated train to careen into the opening and directly toward Bond. It was a bloody miracle the man survived. Idly, Q wondered if that was the first time Bond had ever had an assailant attack him with a tube train. He’d probably laugh and tell some bigger story, the berk. But then, Bond always did have an appreciation for things that were over the top. Like the time when he destroyed a hovering, fully-armed helicopter… with a house.

Speed increased on the train and secondary protocols were in place. This meant that there would be no stopping at stations, doors wouldn’t open no matter what, and the side doors would be sealed and electrified. There would be no means of getting out at all. Q just hoped that the AI wouldn’t decide to shake up Bond like an ice cube in a cocktail shaker. It could. It could do almost anything to the passenger inside.

It was even equipped with sleeping gas.

Q prayed that the AI would see fit to gas Bond soon. As it was, he could tell that the agent was about to discover the electrical properties of the—

That did it.

Q sighed through his nose as he watched a prone Bond twitch on the floor of a speeding tube train. He’d be out for at least twenty minutes. He wished he could help, but he couldn’t. He had limited control and that was only to be used in an emergency situation. After all, he had to make sure that the programming was making good decisions based on previous data. That was the whole point of creating this anti-terrorism AI. He only hoped that no programmer along the line told the AI what a cocktail shaker was.

He was about to turn from his monitor to get another cup of tea when he heard Bond’s pathetic whimper. “Get me out of here and I’ll kiss you on the mouth.” Q turned and blinked at his monitor. One of the other technicians covered her mouth to hide a laugh. His gaze fell on her. “Take over for me, will you Angie?” he asked in his most professional tone. “And please do your best to remember that what we do here could affect the entirety of Great Britain tomorrow.” She sobered up immediately and sat in his chair.

“I’m going to my office for a lie-down,” he told her. “Please see that I’m not disturbed unless something catastrophic has happened.” She nodded.

He closed and locked his office door behind him, and leaned against the door. “Please just let the AI knock you out, Bond,” he said to no one. “Stop fighting. The more you struggle, the more it will find ways to stop you, you moron.” He moved to his small sofa in the corner of the room and lay across it. He still held his tea beaker and placed it on the floor beside him.

Q was exhausted. He had been running preliminary tests on the code for the past three weeks and all was coming up aces. This was its first practical run and it had Q even more tense. It was unbelievable to Q that M had assigned the testing to Bond. It seemed more like a punishment than anything. But then, Bond didn’t seem as fazed by the trains as he did by the former M’s passing.

Q remembered the funeral well. Everyone was in attendance, even a few from the royal family. It was misting rain over the whole of the proceedings. She was buried beside her late husband. It was all very “just-so” and subdued, just as she would have wanted it. Q watched all the faces. He wanted to separate those expressing respectful mourning because they really never knew her, from those expressing true grief for the loss of a loved one. He seemed to see all of the latter and none of the former. If he was honest, he didn’t really grieve for her either. But then, he barely knew her.

But Bond knew her. He wasn’t at her funeral service at chapel. Typical. But Q had thought he saw someone way in the distance while they were gathered at the graveside: a lone figure in a long black coat. He couldn’t see a face, but Q thought it might have been Bond. If he could have, he would have gone to him, talked to him. But Bond wasn’t really the type to talk about such things, was he? Were any of them?

Still… the silence would have been comforting. At least, Q hoped it would have been. He imagined smoking his rare cigarette in the misty rain, seated on a stone bench before the tombstone of some unknown person, Bond beside him, the two of them, just sitting, taking in the silence like a secret.

Perhaps Q would reach over to brush a hand against Bond’s as he lay it on the cold bench. Perhaps Bond would look at their hands and then at him and understand. Perhaps he would favor Q with a lop-sided grin. Perhaps Q would kiss him.

It would only take a moment to do. The warmth of their lips together would have been comforting, wouldn’t it? Nothing too involved, of course; one wouldn’t want to be disrespectful of the dead or inappropriate. It would be just a brush of lips, really, a moment’s pause in the day to express the deepest sympathy, one to the other. It would be a soft emoting of something needed that would help both of them. It would work. It would be caring. It would be silent. And then it would be over.

Q placed his fingers over his mouth as he allowed himself this small tender fantasy. If only Bond would let him in. If only he were brave enough to ask! Q closed his eyes and pushed back that feeling of regret.

There was a loud knocking at his door that caused Q to sit bolt upright.

“Sir!” said Angie through the door. “Sir, you’d better come quickly. We may have a problem.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some things that may not be possible with AI or computer programming. Matter of fact, the rest of this story may be a bit improbable in that vein. I have tried to make it somewhat in the realm of reality, but please don't judge me too harshly. I am not a computer programmer. I have limited knowledge of the computer I use at home, never mind what takes place at Q Branch.
> 
> Do suspend your disbelief and follow me far underground London proper...
> 
> ~080~
> 
> Photo reference for extinguisher receptacle:  
> http://www.flickr.com/photos/padday/283430501/sizes/o/in/photostream/
> 
> I mean... what would you call it?

_BAM!_ The edge of his fist hit the glass window of the mid-carriage door hard. It left no mark and didn’t crack the glass. Bond rolled his eyes. It was probably bulletproof. Jesus H. Christ, did they think of every contingency? Of course they did.

“This is Oxford Circus. Change here for the Victoria and Bakerloo lines,” said the Voice.

Now he was just plain angry. He took out his frustration on the same window. This time he used his boot. It came down over and over and over again, each strike more vicious than the last. It didn’t help with the headache he was getting, but it really did help when it came to taking out his frustration.

The station flew by in a blur and Bond had a distinct feeling that the speed was increasing. The wheels of the train whined loudly as they made a slight turning in the tunnel. His balance was thrown off a bit with the rocking, but not enough to cause him to lose his footing completely. He gripped one of the rail bars and waited for the turning to pass before continuing his attack.

“This is a Central Line train to Ealing Broadway. The next station is Bond Street,” said the Voice.

He was angry that this was even happening. The whole sodding mess was pointless. He shouldn’t be here. He should be on his next assignment. But for some reason, M thought it more productive for him to be a guinea pig for Q to mess about with.

His body was tiring with every blow, but as his foot fell time and time and time again, Bond thought:

Fuck

You

M

Damn

You

Q

This

Shouldn’t

Be

Happening

You

Fucking

Wankers

Can

Kiss

My

Arse

Why

Am

I

Here

What

Good

Is

Any

Of

This

And then a thought struck him which caused him to stand still:

Silva.

Was this M’s way of testing him because of what Silva did to the trains? He rejected the thought immediately, but he stopped striking the window, choosing instead to sit and think about what the hell was going on.

Silva was dead. The mission was over. He had no problem with accepting this assignment. So he wasn’t scarred by almost being killed in the tube tunnels. Twice. He was merely hunting the man. This test had fuck all to do with anything.

Bond shook his head in exasperation and vaguely noted that his dizziness was almost entirely gone. That was good. It was, however, slowly being replaced by a splitting headache.

“This is Bond Street. Change here for the Jubilee line,” said the Voice.

Hearing his name as part of the announcement above jarred him out of his thoughts. Silva didn’t matter. This stupid test didn’t matter. It certainly didn’t alter the fact that he was essentially trapped aboard this tube train which seemed to be gaining speed at an alarming rate. The Bond Street station was a bright lingering flash of light before the darkness overtook them once more. Bond stood and prepared to look around again for anything that could help him stop the train. Jumping from it at these speeds would merely result in turning him into a fine paste.

“This is a Central line train to Ealing Broadway. Are you prepared to die?” said the Voice.

Bond looked up to the ceiling. What the hell? He had to have been hearing things. He shook his head again and pushed away the creepy thoughts in his head. The overhead lights flickered and the carriage swayed again as they came across some points in the line, the wheels whining and scraping in protest. Somewhere in his mind, Bond thought he might have been kidnapped by a SPECTRE agent and placed on this train to be tortured and killed. He shook that thought off too. No… SPECTRE wouldn’t waste its time.

As he mused, his eye fell across a small curved receptacle for a non-existant fire extinguisher. All fire extinguishers had been removed from carriages back at the millennium, so that told him that this was an older train, one that probably wasn’t in much use anymore. He filed away that information. It might be important at some point, although God knew why. But more to the point: the receptacle was made of metal and was held on by two bolts, the heads of which were sticking out toward him.

He went to it and knelt before it. The bolts were loose. Well there was a mercy, at any rate. He began to loosen them further with his fingers cautiously. He didn’t want to get another shock if he could help it. But none came. Soon he had the oddly-shaped piece of metal in his hands and felt triumphant. Here’s something that Q missed; James Bond was exultant.

“This is Marble Arch,” said the Voice.

Another flash of light went by and Bond swore that he could hear the train get faster. He cursed under his breath. If the train decided to switch directions again at this speed, it would almost certainly result in his death. He hoped that Q Branch realized that and weren’t about to be that foolish.

He propped the sharp metal corner of the receptacle under the seal of the window of the door that lead to the second carriage. One of those dummies had to have something a bit more useful on them than this unwieldy piece of red metal; it wasn’t the most elegant tool he’d ever used. The seal began to come apart and tear. If he could get it off, he could pop the glass and do the same to the other door. Then he could crawl freely through to the other carriage. So far, things were looking good.

“This is a Central line train to Ealing Broadway. You will die here,” said the Voice.

This time there was no mistake. The train had actually spoken to him. Not one to entertain the merciless, Bond responded with a muttered: “Not if I can help it, you bitch.” The thick rubber seal came free and Bond dropped the receptacle with a clang. He pulled at the seal, managing to yank it all free in one steady, adrenaline- filled pull.

“This is your only warning,” said the Voice in the same calm tone, “you will die if you continue."

“Then kill me,” said Bond aloud to the carriage behind him.

The squeal of the brake lines was all he heard before his upper body hit the window he had just half unsealed. The bad news was that he was once again knocked dizzy and fell sprawling to the floor on the rebound. The good news was the window was popped out of place and a gigantic hole was left, allowing the sound of the train to magnify and air to come freely pouring in.

Bond pressed a hand to his head where it had struck the window. He wasn’t bleeding, but he would have a hell of a bump there come morning. Filled with determination, Bond rose to his feet as he felt the train change direction again. Christ… when would this end?

“This is a Central Line train to Epping. The next station is Marble Arch,” said the Voice.

“Q!” shouted Bond. “Your train is being a right sadist, you know. Get this thing to stop, will you? I know you can hear me.”

“I can hear you, James Bond,” said Q’s voice from the speakers above. “Everything’s going to be alright.”

Relief flooded Bond like never before. “Oh Christ! Thank God, Q! I was beginning to think that you couldn’t hear me.”

“I can hear you,” said Q’s voice.

“Fantastic,” said Bond. “Stop this shit, will you? I’ve had enough. I know M wants to know if I’m mission-ready and he’s going to hear it from me when I get out of here. So stop us at the next station will you?”

“I will do my best,” said Q’s voice. He sounded calm. That was good. Things were going to be OK. Everything was going to be OK.

 

~080~

 

“He’s behaving like a Barbary ape!” Angie said as she called up Bond in the train carriage and put it on the main screen in Q Branch.

Q huffed an annoyed breath out his nose and shook his head. Angie’s estimation of Bond’s behavior wasn’t far off the mark. Clearly the agent was agitated as he kicked in futile fury at the mid-carriage door window. He looked haggard and stressed out. The routine train announcements didn’t look like they were helping his stress level at all either.

“We’re at stage 3 in the testing, Agent Simpson,” he said to Angie. “See if you can turn off the conductor voice. It’s really not necessary.”

She sat and typed in a command at his station. The computer gave her an error message and sound signal. She frowned. Q said: “Try again.” She did. The same error came up. That was strange. “Move over,” he said to her.

She complied and watched as Q went into the code itself to alter the settings. The computer complied. “There. The AI should recognize that the announcements aren’t necessary and act accordingly,” he said.

Angie nodded and disappeared to her own station when she saw that Q was back on the job. Q rubbed his eyes wearily and watched the monitor. Bond was sitting and thinking about something. He didn’t want to wonder about where that man’s mind went in these moments.

“This is a Central line train to Ealing Broadway. Are you prepared to die?” said the automated conductor announcement.

Q froze in his seat for a split second before his hands flew over the keyboard. Where the hell did that come from? The AI was programmed to deal with containment of terrorists, not go off on its own to irritate and incite violence and fear.

Every attempt he made at re-routing command of the conductor announcement to Q Branch was being thwarted by the code itself. The AI was learning, alright; it was learning to take things into its own virtual hands. This was not good. This was very not good.

Another blip registered on his monitor: the train speed was unconscionably fast. If the AI chose to change directions at this speed… but no. It wouldn’t do that because of the “passengers” in the second car. It was programmed to protect them at all costs. It would never risk a crash just to destroy one terrorist. There would be too great a loss. Q sent up a silent prayer that he had thought to include the general public in his test. If not, Bond would be dead already and Q would have to explain it all to M and then M would have to explain himself to the Prime Minister.

Bond was hunched in the corner doing something Q couldn’t see. He was still typing like a fiend, but nothing was helping. Finally, he decided to confront the AI directly. He entered in a query:

_Q: Why are you saying things to Terrorist X?_

_AI: I am protecting the nation._

_Q: Please stop speaking to the terrorist._

_AI: ERROR: This is not a query._

Q huffed an annoyed breath and tried again:

_Q: How is it helpful to speak to Terrorist X?_

_AI: Interrogation involves intimidation._

_Q: Are you interrogating the terrorist?_ _  
_

_AI: I am establishing dominance. Once achieved, interrogation will commence._

_Q: What does establishing dominance include?_

_AI: Psychological manipulation and physical injury._

Q watched his blinking cursor in horror. The AI was planning on beating up Bond physically and mentally in order to gain information that Bond didn’t have because this was simply a test of the system. Bugger.

_Q: Are you aware that this is a test?_

There was a moment or two that went by as the AI absorbed this question. Then:

_AI: QUERY: What Is a test?_

Oh bloody buggering hell.

The train screeched to a halt in the tunnel and Q scrambled to gain access to the computer’s voice command. He needed to tell Bond what was going on. He needed to work together with him so that he wouldn’t get himself killed. He spoke into the computer’s microphone: “Quartermaster. Secure code AU2477MRD. Override access requested. Message sent as follows: James Bond, can you hear me? I can hear you, but can you hear me? If so, please wave your arms. Everything's going to be alright.”

“This is a Central Line train to Epping. The next station is Marble Arch,” said the AI in the automated conductor’s voice. That was discouraging.

“Q!” shouted Bond. “Your train is being a right sadist, you know. Get this thing to stop, will you? I know you can hear me.”

Relief waved over Q as he sat back in his seat and smirked. He hit the key that would open communication on his end and opened his mouth to speak, but he never uttered a syllable.

“I can hear you, James Bond,” said a voice that sounded exactly like Q but wasn't. “Everything’s going to be alright.”

Q’s blood ran cold.


	4. Chapter 4

“This is Marble Arch,” said the Voice.

“What? No threats for me, sweetheart?” said Bond. As God as his witness, he would never take the London tube again. Ever. Thank the Lord that Q was handling things. Bond sat exhausted in one of the empty seats near the rear door. His head was throbbing from the inside and out now, but he didn’t care. He closed his eyes and waited for Q to stop the bloody machine.

“I’m working on the problem now, Mr. Bond,” said Q’s voice. “Please just try and relax.”

“Doing just that, Q,” said Bond. There was something bothering him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He rose from his seat and idly picked up the receptacle he had discarded earlier. Holding it casually in one hand, he moved to the open window and took in the quasi-fresh air from the tunnels. The wind was something unreal as his whipped around his face, but the air did help with his headache. From his position he had a clear view of the other car and its false passengers. “Hey, Q?” Bond asked, “why the mannequins? What’s the point?”

There was a pause before Q’s voice came back: “It’s part of the test, Mr. Bond.”

“Yes,” said Bond, as though he were speaking to someone slow-witted. “I understand that. But what is the purpose? Was I to rescue them or something? The parameters have escaped me.”

Another pause. “I don’t understand you, Mr. Bond. Now please relax. I am working on the problem,” said Q’s voice.

Bond nodded his head and murmured softly: “Yes, I expect you don’t.”

The Voice returned: “This is a Central line train to Epping. The next station is Bond Street.”

“This is Central line train to hell,” muttered Bond. Gripping the receptacle tighter, he passed his arms and head through the open window and pried the seal off of the exterior window opposite. The seal came away easily as it had been exposed to the elements for so many years. His actions didn’t go unnoticed, however. He didn’t think they would.

“What are you doing, Mr. Bond?” asked Q’s voice.

Bond didn’t supply him with an answer. He merely dropped the receptacle again, sat in the empty sill of the window, and kicked out the opposite window. It was a moment’s thought before Bond found himself in the other carriage and among the mannequins. 

“Mr. Bond? Answer me,” asked Q’s voice.

“The thing is,” began Bond. “Your voice is entirely too flat. No inflection. I mean, here I am, destroying your pet project and you haven’t even raised your voice!” Bond gave a chuckle. “And I’ll tell you another thing: Q -- the REAL Q -- has NEVER called me MISTER Bond. Ever.” As he spoke, Bond searched the dummies for something he could use as a weapon. “So why don’t we just stop pretending that we’re friends, eh?” The pockets of the false passengers held nothing. The purses of the females rendered nothing as well. “Forget the whole thing, right?” There was a neatness to the beginning of his search, but as he went on, Bond took less and less care. He was getting desperate. “Because this is not a test; this is you trying to kill me, isn’t it?”

A long pause followed this speech. Bond continued to search during this temporary moment of silence. He was coming up with nothing. In the end, he had a handful of bobby pins from some of the wigs, but they couldn’t actually pick the lock to the control booth. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he was in the hands of whoever was actually controlling this thing. He began to lose hope.

In his frustration, he screamed: “Are you trying to kill me, you stupid machine? Because I’m right here! I’m right fucking here!”

There was a hissing high above his head. At first Bond thought a snake was somehow planted aboard the carriage and he turned in the direction of it. He saw no animal, but a port had lowered from the ceiling: tiny, black, and spraying something in his direction. Gas.

Bond ran for the open window. As he moved, his vision began to close in on him. His hands grabbed for the sill and as his feet went out from under him, he just caught the edge of the sill and craned his neck up toward the open breeze that was wafting in. All his concentration was bent on breathing in the outside air.

“They tried to kill me, you know,” said M.

Bond couldn’t believe his ears. He turned his head toward the voice of a very dead M, an M he saw die in his arms. She leaned out from among the mannequins and smiled that infuriatingly benign smile she reserved for those special punishing assignments that Bond knew he’d hate to take. Bitch.

“They tried to kill me and they failed,” said M.

“You- you’re dead,” said Bond.

“And yet, I’m sitting here talking to you,” said M.

“No, you’re not,” said Bond. “It’s a trick. You’re dead and I’m hallucinating.”

“I assure you,” said M quite calmly. “I’m very much alive. And you are indeed going to die. I hope you’re prepared, James.” She took off her gloves. White lace. Did M wear gloves? Bond shook his head to clear his thoughts.

“N-no,” said Bond. “It’s not real. You’re not real.” He lifted himself up to get more air into his lungs. He knew that the carriage was filling up with whatever noxious gas Q Branch had decided to put in there. It was a struggle that had his head hurting so badly that his heartbeat was in his ears. He could feel himself going red in the face. “Q,” Bond begged. “Q wherever you are and whatever you’re doing, do it quick.” He glanced backward at an M who should be dead but wasn’t… but had to be. “Please, Q…”his voice caught. “I think I may be going mad.”

 

~080~

 

“What the fucking hell is going on?” demanded M. He stormed in with all authority and Q actually heard himself swallow past the lump in his throat. Who in hell told M what was going on? Q hadn’t any time to report anything and he hadn’t sent someone to get M, so what—Q spotted Angie in the corner. She must have snuck off at the first sign of things going tits up. Wonderful: a snitch.

She had the common decency to avert her gaze when Q glared at her, but in the end he had more pressing matters to attend to. He turned back to the main monitor where Bond was sitting comfortably in one of the front carriage seats. “We have a problem,” said Q.

“Understatement, Q,” said M. “Clarify.”

“The AI has taken control of the voice conductor and is now using my voice to speak to Bond, pretending that it’s me,” said Q.

“And pray tell: how in hell did it get an idea of what your voice sounded like?” asked M.

“I attempted to gain control through our voice command system,” said Q, a bit sheepishly. He didn’t feel as though he did a bad thing, though. Had he to do it all over again, he would have made the same choices.

“And in order to do that you have to vocally give your access code,” said M. It wasn’t a question, but Q nodded anyway. M sighed. “What’s the plan now?”

“Well,” said Q as he continued to type and click as he spoke, “the AI only has access to the programs it uses. Any attempts at program stop, pause, or change have resulted in being booted from the system and starting all over again. I’ve had seven different people attack it from seven different angles. All were booted out.”

“That’s not a plan, Q,” said M.

“No,” agreed Q, “but it shows us where we’ve been… What’s he doing now?” Bond was sitting in the sill and kicking at the window of the rear carriage.

M leaned in watching the main screen carefully. “He’s moving to the second carriage.” He turned to Q. “Why would he do that?”

He gave it a moment before going back to typing like a fiend. “What I suspect is that Bond hasn’t bought the computer’s ruse. Something must have spooked him.”

M and Q heard Bond say: “The thing is your voice is entirely too flat. No inflection. I mean, here I am destroying your pet project and you haven’t even raised your voice!” 

“Good on you, Bond,” said M.

“Told you,” said Q without looking up. He allowed himself a smirk of satisfaction. Bond certainly was good at what he did. Q had never been more proud of him. “Of course,” said Q, realizing that his celebration may have been premature, “this means that the computer will up the ante.”

“What does that mean?” asked M. “It won’t crash the train, will it?”

“No,” said Q. “At least, it shouldn’t.” M glared at him. “What I mean is: the computer will save the passengers at all costs. If he’s in the coach with the passengers, then he’ll be saved as well. But the computer will attempt to subdue him any way it can. Therefore, its next tactic should be the knockout gas.”

As Q continued to type past the computer’s defenses, M watched as Bond rummaged through all the dummies looking for anything he could use to get himself out of that mess. He saw Bond look about him at the far end of the carriage and then race for the open window at the opposite end. He saw his legs collapse and him catch the sill, hauling himself up to the point where he could have a nose to the outside air.

Then Bond heard him talking: “You- you’re dead.”

“Q?” said M in a rather slow yet alarming manner.

“Hmm?” asked Q, completely absorbed in code.

Q?” said M again, tapping his shoulder and shifting the quartermaster’s gaze to follow his own on the main screen. “The computer’s not saying anything to him. It’s not even making station announcements anymore. Who the devil is he talking to?”

“No, you’re not,” said Bond. “It’s a trick. You’re dead and I’m hallucinating.”

“Oh dear,” said Q.

“Oh dear?” parroted M. “What does “oh dear” mean, exactly, Q?”

“He may not have gotten the full dose of the knockout gas,” said Q. “If one doesn’t, one can hallucinate.”

“Will he be alright?” asked M.

“The hallucinations in test subjects were varied,” said Q. “But as long as he keeps his wits about him as best he can and nothing too jarring happens to him, he should be fine.”

“Q,” said M. “The man is trapped aboard a runaway train that’s trying to kill him and is now hallucinating and talking to dead people. Nothing is fine right now.”

“Still,” maintained Q, “he should be fine as long as he stays in the window and attempts to recognize it all as an hallucination. He’ll be fine as long as he can control his thoughts.” M looked at Q. Q glanced up at him and added: “He’s got a strong will. He’ll pull through. He’s not losing his mind.”

Bond’s voice filled Q Branch: “Q wherever you are and whatever you’re doing, do it quick. Please, Q…I think I may be going mad.”

“Oh dear,” said Q.

And then the lights in the speeding carriage flickered one last time. And then they went out.


	5. Chapter 5

“You can’t escape, you know,” said M in the darkness.

“You’re dead,” Bond maintained. His head was pounding and he wanted to collapse. The dark around him was like a living thing. There was no trace of light at all save when they passed a station. But somehow the fleeting glimpses he got of M were much worse than the darkness could ever be. At least when it was dark, he couldn’t see her face judging him.

“I am here with you,” she assured him. “I’ve come back to take you with me, you see.”

“What?” said Bond.

“I really don’t think it was very fair of you to make me the bait in your little trap for Silva,” she said. “And I plan on punishing you in hell for it – among other atrocities.”

“You can’t,” said Bond. “You’re—“

“Dead,” she interrupted. “Yes, yes I know. You’ve said.”

“But you say that you’re alive,” said Bond.

“I’m as alive as you are, James,” she said. “But then,” she added sadly as another station lit her face, “you’ve never really been that alive to begin with, have you?”

Suddenly resentful, Bond told her to fuck off. She laughed. “Mallory asked you why you didn’t stay dead when you had the chance. Do you remember?” she asked.

“Of course I remember,” said Bond.

“And do you remember what you said?” said M.

Bond sighed. He should have stayed dead. “I asked him: Do you get out in the field much?”

“And he said…” she led him along.

“He said it was a young man’s game. He implied that I was too old for the job,” said Bond.

“Indeed,” said she. Her small smile was wicked in the fleeting light of another station.

“He also told you that you were too sentimental about me,” said Bond.

“One of my many failings in this life,” she admitted. “It was the same with Silva. He was brilliant. And he went off the rails.” She let out a short laugh. “No pun intended, of course.” Somehow he could feel her getting closer to him in the carriage. He let himself sink to the floor when she said: “But I don’t intend on repeating that mistake with you, James.”

The carriage rocked as it went over some points. Somehow it became darker.

“What are you going to do to me?” said Bond.

“I’m going to make you relive every loss, James,” she said sadly. “Beginning with me.” Her voice was everywhere in the dark. He couldn’t see her anymore, not a trace. He waited for another station to come along to let him know where she was, but it seemed to be taking forever.

“Q!” shouted Bond. “Q! Hurry the fuck up!”

She laughed in the darkness. “Oh, I wouldn’t concern myself with that puppy. I assure you that he’s quite forgotten all about you.”

“He wouldn’t,” said Bond. “He couldn’t. This is his pet project. He wouldn’t just leave me here.”

“He’s got better things to do that to monitor this test, Bond,” she said. “He’s not going to save you and the peons that work for him are incapable of saving you. Don’t you realize what’s going on?”

Bond shook his head at her words. They weren’t true. They couldn’t be true. Q was his quartermaster. He wouldn’t abandon an agent – even if it was just a test.

“Your precious quartermaster and Mallory have decided that you would be perfect for this little adventure because… well… this is your retirement party!” she declared. “Mallory was right, you know: you are far too old to be a field agent, too long in the tooth, as they say.”

“Fuck off, M,” said Bond.

She clucked her tongue at him. “Now, now, James,” she said. “There’s no need to get stroppy. Take your retirement like a man, will you?”

“The same way you did when they tried to push you out?” asked Bond. It was the only tack he had left against her. Everything else she was saying seemed so right.

Another shake of the carriage as points were crossed again. There were still no lights. Bond would give anything for the train conductor announcements to still be playing. Anything to give him a compass in this black mire he was trapped in.

“Yes,” she said flatly. “I fought them and Silva proved me right. But at least I did it with dignity instead of sitting on the floor of a train in a heap, shaking like a leaf, and with a wet face and all.”

Bond reached up to wipe his cheek. She was right. He was crying. He wasn’t even aware of it.

“And then you rushed in, all bump and go and no consideration for anyone else, carjacked me, and drove me to that god-forsaken spot in Scotland to die,” she accused.

“And now you’re here for my head,” said Bond wearily. Part of him wanted to go.

“No, James,” said M. “I’m here for your spirit. I intend to break it, you see. It’s the least you deserve.” A sudden light from outside lit her face. The look of greedy glee on it was horrifying.

 

~080~

 

“Christ,” said M. “Tell me that there’s a contingency plan for this, Q.”

“Someone get me a schematic of the train track and where the carriages are on it,” said Q. “On main screen, NOW!” His staff was quick to comply and soon an image of three rings appeared on the main. Two blue blinking dots indicated where the train was. The speed of the train was noted in one corner. Yellow dots on the outside of the largest circle indicated mock stations that Bond was passing. They would have to suffice to provide them any light to see by their cameras on board the carriage.

Q was still typing furiously attempting to hack into any portion of the train at all: electrics, door controls, speed controls. Nothing was working; the AI blocked him at every turn. It was a nightmare.

Turn…

Turnings…

“Wait a goddamned minute,” he mumbled. He made an irritated sound deep in his throat as he flipped over to a different application for access to the train tracks.

“Q?” said M. “Please explain what you’re doing. I feel useless like this.”

“I’m diverting the train,” said Q. He looked at M with a smirk. “It’s a closed track after all.”

“God yes, of course! But how are we going to get Bond off the train?” asked M.

“By diverting the train to the smaller tracks within the outer circle he’s been travelling. It’ll make it darker before it’s lighter, but it’ll slow the train enough to where Bond can jump with only minor injury,” said Q. He hit a final keystroke and looked at the main monitor. Just as he had asked, the track points switched and the train diverted to the middle circle. The speed of the train decreased automatically.

“The train is still trying to protect the passengers,” said M. Q nodded. “And can you get the other points to work?”

Both men were shaken when from out of the dark monitor they heard Bond: “Q! Q! Hurry the fuck up!”

“Right… We’re going to find out in a few seconds, M,” said Q, answering his boss’s question and trying not to let his heart break over Bond. He prayed that the AI wouldn’t have figured on what he was doing. It might see it as another form of attack and decide that saving what few passengers were aboard wouldn’t be worth it. Jesus… if he were the death of James Bond, Q would never forgive himself. He pushed away the sentimentality with a shake of his head and waited.

The train went over the points with no hazard.

M and Q breathed a sigh of relief as the train slowed even further. The tight circle it was making would not allow for a speed greater than 30 kilometers per hour. Bond could then jump from the train and escape.

“It’s completely pitch dark in that room, Q,” said M. “Bond’s disorientated. Can we put the lights on?”

“Attempting to do just that… now,” said Q with another keystroke.

The inner circle was a completely open room. The track lined the circumference and the center was filled with a few boxes of tools and some free-standing work lights. Overhead was a large main light that took up the center of the room. Also present in the dead center of the circle was the main server for the train’s AI encased in Plexiglas with air vents surrounding it to prevent overheating.

“Why a separate server?” M mumbled to no one in particular as the lights went up.

“Would you want that AI to have access to all of our systems?” asked Q.

M was about to answer him when the lights went out again. Q typed furiously into his system attempting to discern what went wrong. Finally, he sat back. “Of course,” he said. “The inner circle is the AI’s inner sanctum. It’s going to protect its server from any attack as well.”

“Can you bring up the lights again?” asked M.

“I can do it countless times,” said Q. “But the AI’s just going to shut it down again after a few seconds.”

M smiled at Q. “Seconds are all we need.”


	6. Chapter 6

“You knew what we were up against,” said Bond. His heart was racing. M was there in the dark somewhere but the screeching wheels were all he could hear. That and her breathing. Or was it his breathing? “You were the bait in the trap, it’s true, but you understood why.”

“I never wanted it that way,” Dead M said. Her voice was filled with venom.

“Well fucking hell, M!” said Bond. “No one wanted things that way, but that’s how it had to be! Silva was after you. We had to gain time and distance to get an advantage and that’s what we did!”

Silence.

Bond peered into the darkness, hoping for a station light to come up. Perhaps the lightning would come back. But there was nothing. Bond put a tentative hand out searching the darkness, dreading the moment when, for a fraction of a second, his skin would kiss the fabric of M’s tattered clothing.

And they were tattered. Bond hadn’t had much time to study her, but in that last great flash of light from outside, he could see that she was tattered and decaying. Not just her suit, but all of her. It was as if she had dug her way out of her own grave to drag him to hell by the lapels. Knowing her, Bond wouldn’t have put such an action past her.

“Well?” said Bond to the darkness. “What have you to say now?”

“I saw you,” said M softly.

“What the hell are you talking about?” said Bond.

“I saw you fall off the face of the earth twice: after Vesper and after you were shot,” she said.

“I came back,” Bond said.

“You weren’t the same,” she said. “I was afraid-“ She stopped herself from saying anything further.

“What?” said Bond after a moment’s silence.

“She was afraid that you’d turn into me,” said another all-too-familiar voice.

“Silva?” asked Bond.

“Were you hoping for your precious Vesper?” He giggled. “Oh, James… you disappoint me.”

“I don’t exist for your approval, Silva,” said Bond. He attempted to stand up. His headache was now a migrane and any movement was painful, but he forced himself through it. He needed air and the door at his back was his only option. He balanced himself against the door, his head to the side of the kicked-out window, one hand gripped against the opposite sill, the other on a support bar. He took a deep breath and said: “You can go to hell, you disease.”

Silva clucked his tongue. “Is that any way to talk in front of mother?”

“She’s no more my mother than she was yours, you prick,” said Bond.

Lightning flashed outside the carriage. It lit the world up for a fraction of a second before disappearing again. In the span of the moment, Bond saw clearly both M and Silva hovering near him. They didn’t touch him, but if they so chose, they could both reach out and strangle him. Bond didn’t know what to make of it. He chalked the lightning and Silva’s presence up to his building madness, another hallucination to add to the mix.

“I was your mother more than any woman,” said M.

“You don’t get to say that,” said Bond.

‘Oh don’t I?” she asked. “I should like to meet the woman who could say that more truthfully than I.”

“Her name was Monique,” said Bond.

“A biological link, nothing more,” said M dismissively. “I’m the one who found you, groomed you, prepared you.”

“You trained me,” said Bond. “But you never loved me.”

“Are you saying that your biological mother did?” she countered.

“I’m saying that I only had one real mother after mine died,” said Bond.

“Yes. Me,” said M.

“No. England.”

A slow clap began in the darkness. “Bravo, Mr. Bond,” said Silva. “I’m impressed. You sure fooled her.” He chuckled. “Here she thought she was the moon and the stars in your world, when you weren’t working for her at all. You did it all… for Mother England. Very poetic. Very very poetic.”

“Fuck off, Silva,” said Bond.

Another flash of light came. This one was longer, but no more than a full second. In it, the two corpses glared at him hatefully. Bond backed up against the door even further, willing himself to melt into the metal just to get away from the two of them.

“I never wanted you to become like Silva,” said M. “How is that not love?”

“You have no control over me like that,” said Bond. “Just like you had no control over Silva. When you-“

The train switched directions again, pushing Bond into the door at his back and then suddenly propelling him forward to tumble further into the car. He lay on his back getting his bearings when the lightning flashed outside again: one short, three long. Somewhere in his Navy-trained brain Bond thought: “J”.

“On your back like an overturned turtle, James,” said Silva. The voice came from above him and Bond attempted to get on his feet when he felt a shoe press down on his left shoulder. “Ah, ah, ah! Relax, James! Take it easy! Your death will be much more peaceful if you just lay here and take it. Lean back and think of England.”

Bond could see the wicked smile on his face, even without another flash from outside: two short, one long. The storm was building.

The carriage was swaying pretty consistently now, but he felt somehow that the speed had been reduced. Of course there was no way to tell without having a look out the windows, but Silva’s boot was pinning him where he was and he couldn’t move.

“Killing you now would be a mercy on the world, 007,” said M. “I’d be doing society a favor.”

“But not our nation,” said Bond. “The real M would have never put society in general over Britain. She could give a toss what society said. She was all about protecting Her from harm.”

“Oh my,” said M. “Don’t we think we know me. How flattering!”

“Sarcasm was her second language, but you’re not her, so piss off,” said Bond. Why couldn’t he shift Silva’s shoe? He pushed with his right hand, but the thing wouldn’t budge. Was it all in his mind? He shoved again.

Lightning struck; two long this time. Bond’s Navy training spoke again: “M”. It was a reminder of her name. Fantastic. Now his mind was not only conjuring up conversations with the dead, he was being subjected to subliminal messages too. Bond groaned audibly.

“Oh dear, mother,” said Silva. “Little James seems upset over something.”

“He’s only upset because he thinks he’s got something to lose,” said M. “But it’s a lie. You’ve got nothing and no one in this world, 007. Just the job. And someone else can do it just as badly as you can, you know. You are entirely replaceable and you will be quickly forgotten.”

James knew she was right. He had nothing permanent in this life worth living for. Except… A vision of Q flashed in his brain: the smile, the hair, the glasses, the endearing looks of profound annoyance when Bond brought back a broken piece of equipment – or better still: no equipment at all. He was always the voice in his ear. He was always there when the target was acquired. He was always there when things went tits up. Why wasn’t he here now? “Q,” whispered Bond.

“What’s that, Jimmy-boy?” asked Silva. Lightning of one short, two long, and one short lit up his smarmy face.

Bond ignored him. His brain was busy doing something else. The lightning was trying to alter his thoughts; he was thinking of Q, not “P”. He was thinking about his smile. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, it really made Bond happy. He had never told him that. He wanted to now, desperately. He felt himself tear up with his desperation.

The lightning came again and this time it was a staccato burst: short, long, long, long, short, short, long, long, long, short, long, long, short. As the light played silly-buggers outside, Bond tried to focus on Q’s smile. He wanted that to be the last thing he saw if he didn’t survive this. Jesus God, let him survive this. He wanted to tell Q everything. Here he was at the end of it all and Q wasn’t there with him. It wasn’t right. He needed Q there. He should be there. Why wasn’t he there? “Q!” cried Bond. He missed him more desperately than he could say. “ _Please, Q…_ ”

Above him, M and Silva continued their discussion, but Bond only heard it peripherally:

Silva: How did you want to end it all?

M: I thought the train would have killed him by now.

Silva: Obviously that isn’t something that’s going to happen quickly. Although, I must admit that it would be very destructive.

M: No. You’re right. It’s not going to happen quickly. We need to do it ourselves, it seems.

Silva: It’s a shame you’ll get your outfit all dirty.

M: Yes, well… I thought… since you’re stronger than me…

Silva: Now mother… don’t take advantage! You did that for enough years.

M: You were such a useful agent back then.

Silva: I dislike being used. Or haven’t you heard?

They glared at each other in the now almost strobe-like lightning: short, long, long, long, short, short, long, long, long, short, long, long, short.

With an angry grunt at Silva, M looked down at Bond and reached for him slowly. She was saying something, but his brain didn’t want to hear her over the lightning and the screeching wheels, and the swaying carriage, and Silva’s maniacal laughter. He concentrated on her mouth as the lightning hit her face over and over and over:

 

“This is the train that’s still out of order (short)

Stuck on the track with no-one on board her (long, long, long)

Passengers rich and passengers poor

Still all standing at the station door (short, short)

Profits for the city, profits for the board (long)

Promises broken, warnings ignored

Mothballed tests and dodgy tracks (long, long)

Papering over the safety cracks

Once the pride of a once great nation (short)

Crumbling away leaving you at the station (long, long)

The Government says it’s all going to be fine (short)

 _But has James Bond come to the end of the line?_ ”

 

Bond’s mind reeled as everything became about Q’s smile and the lightning and holding Q and kissing Q and never letting him go and watching the lightning play a visual devil’s tattoo on the face of a deranged deceased decaying M as she reached for him, claws out, ready to rip his soul from his body and drag him to the deepest pits of hell where Q could never ever find him. “Q!” shouted Bond.

_short, long, long, long, short, short, long, long, long, short, long, long, short_

_short, long, long, long, short, short, long, long, long, short, long, long, short_

short, long, long, long, short, short, long, long, long, short, long, long, short

_J          U          M          P_

_Jump._

_Jump._

JUMP!

In a super-human effort, Bond wiggled out from under a startled Silva and onto his feet. He pushed M aside, falling through her to catch himself on the dummies in the seats beyond her. He propped himself up and barreled for the open window all the while his brain conjured up Q's beautiful angel's voice saying:

 _Jump… jump… jump_ …JUMP!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem Dead M recites is a parody of WH Auden’s “Night Mail” by Richard Heeley with the last line paraphrased (obviously) for effect.  
> Here is the original:
> 
> British Rail
> 
> This is the train that's still out of order  
> Stuck on the track with no-one on board her  
> Passengers rich and passengers poor  
> Still all standing at the station door  
> Profits for the city, profits for the board  
> Promises broken, warnings ignored  
> Mothballed tests and dodgy tracks  
> Papering over the safety cracks  
> Once the pride of a once great nation  
> Crumbling away leaving you at the station  
> The Government says it's all going to be fine  
> But have the railways come to the end of the line?
> 
> Source: http://scphillips.com/train_poem.html


	7. Chapter 7

Medical released him within an hour of his escape. Cuts and bruises but nothing more serious was the diagnosis. He gave M a glance, but he was too angry and exhausted to talk to him. The contrite look on M’s face told Bond that talking to him would be nothing but apologies. He didn’t want to hear it. It was all an experiment, eh? Bond was disgusted. Somewhere in the back of his brain, Dead M chuckled. Perhaps she was right: perhaps Bond was replaceable.

He was about to leave when Q walked up. “Medical says that you check out,” he said.

“Yes,” said Bond as he rolled down the sleeves of his filthy and tattered shirt. He tried not to let his heart leap out of his chest with joy at the sight of Q. The quartermaster looked as repentant as M. To help cover the awkwardness he was feeling he asked: “Something on your mind, Q?”

“Um…” began Q. He looked repentant… and exhausted. “Just wanting to know if you are still hallucinating or if the effects of the drug have worn off.”

Bond paused. Of course he would want to know about the chemicals. Bond’s heart fell. Fucking boffin. “I am no longer hallucinating,” he stated flatly.

“G-good,” said Q. He typed a note into an electronic tablet he held in one hand. “How about physical symptoms? Do you have a headache? Feel nauseus?”

“Why don’t you go ask the medics?” said Bond as patiently as he could. “They just finished asking me all that.” He donned his jacket and made for the door. Q followed him.

He had just gained the doorway to the inner circle of track when he heard Q behind him: “007.”

James turned. “What is it, Q?”

It was a moment before Q answered him. He stood a few feet from him looking like a puppy that had just been kicked. “Thank you for helping us with the testing. I’ll have more questions for you tomorrow. It will help with data compilation for this experiment,” was all he said. But that wasn’t what Q wanted to say.

Bond stared at the boy a moment. He was angry because he was hoping for more. But why? Q had handled logistics for him on dangerous missions, why was he expecting tenderness from a machine like Q? Something inside Bond ached. He wanted to cling to him. He wanted to wrap him in his arms and kiss him for three days. He wanted to taste his skin and hear him moving about in the flat in the morning, the smell of coffee wafting over to him as Q got back in bed and woke him with a gentle kiss to the temple. Bond closed his eyes. He had never felt so spent. “Anything for Q Branch,” he said and left the test track area.

 

~080~

 

An hour later Bond was sitting on his sofa in front of a fire and sipping a single malt. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees when from out of the corner of his eye he noticed the little ceramic bulldog in the Union Jack flag that M had left him in her will. It sat on a bookshelf in a corner where no one could really see it. But tonight every light was on in the flat and the dog stared out at him from his little hide-away, exposed by the light. Bond shivered involuntarily but he didn’t have the heart to destroy it. The truth was, looking at it made him laugh.

She was a hard bitch, that M, but she was damn good at her job. She knew her arse from her elbow. She wasn’t his mother. She was his boss. And as such, he had decent memories of her. That bulldog represented the lighter moments of their relationship. He could never part with it. He smiled to himself as he took another sip from his glass.

Laughter was rare for James. His job rarely brought it about. His personal life was quiet. But even so, there were times when he’d be having a real chuckle and he’d stop himself as he realized that that was the first time in months that he had truly felt happiness. He hated those moments. He wished he had more meaningful joy in his life.

He hated the long hours. He hated the toll it took on him physically and mentally. It was lonely work and no amount of dating in the real world could find him anyone who would even remotely understand. Vaguely, he wished he had stuck to his word and snogged Q on sight. Ah well… hind-sight was always 20-20. He sipped at his whiskey and stared off into space.

There was a knock at the door. Bond turned slowly. He wasn’t expecting anyone – especially at this late hour. The sun had set long ago and the lights of London were splayed out before him as he passed the great window to see who was knocking. He glanced through the peephole. Well, hell…

“What are you doing here, Q?” asked Bond.

The quartermaster stood there all sweater vest and hair. He cleared his throat with a small cough and said: “May I come in, 007?”

“Of course,” said Bond. He stepped aside and watched curiously as the man entered his home. “I didn’t even know you knew where I lived,” he added.

“Don’t be ridiculous, 007,” said Q as he glanced around the flat. “I’m a computer genius who works on Her Majesty’s secret service. Of course I can find you.”

Bond smirked at the back of his head. His arrogance was really so matter-of-factly stated that Bond couldn’t be angry. “You haven’t answered my question, Q,” said Bond. He moved himself to stand in front of his quartermaster. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to speak to you,” said Q. “Unofficially.”

Bond offered him a drink, but Q waved him off. Bond motioned to the sofa and they both sat. “What is it?” asked Bond.

“I- I wanted to apologize, 007- James,” said Q.

Here we go. This was just the thing that Bond was hoping to avoid. He had no time for apologies. In a way, they were admissions of weakness and that rankled at Bond’s sensibilities. “For what?” asked James, his tone becoming sardonic as he remembered Q’s laser-like focus on gathering his precious data. “Surely your experiment was a success.”

Q cleared his throat again and adjusted his glasses nervously. “I’m afraid not,” he said.

“Oh?” asked Bond. He abandoned the sardonic for the out-and-out sarcastic as he added: “Was it not lethal enough for you? Disappointed that it didn’t kill me?” He took another swig from his glass.

Q stared at him. “How dare you say that? As soon as the AI went crazy, I was trying like hell to get it to stop. I was trying to help you survive, James. I would never want you dead. Ever,” he said firmly.

“Oh right,” said Bond, his sarcasm on the rise. “You need to hear from me how badly it gave me a headache. You need me to gather your damn data.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” asked Q. Bond could see that he was more than a little angry. He eyed Bond’s glass. “How many of those have you had?”

“I’m not drunk, Q,” said Bond. In truth, the knocks he took to the head were more than sufficiently painful and he supposed the alcohol on top of head injuries wasn’t a good call, but he was in his own flat and he can do whatever he damn well pleased here.

“Well you’re not thinking clearly, James,” said Q. “I came here to apologize for letting you down today and to tell you that it wouldn’t happen again.” He stood up. “I can see now that it was a waste of time. I’m sorry to have troubled you, 007.”

Bond took Q’s wrist in his hand. “No no,” he said. “Don’t be like that. It’s alright, Q. Sit down, will you?” Q hesitated before sitting once more. Bond took a breath. “You’re here to apologize, fine. Apology accepted. Besides, you’re the one who got me out of there anyway. Clever thing to use the lights to send Morse code: it was like a giant signal lamp. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

Q was silent a moment before quietly admitting: “That wasn’t my idea.” Bond looked at him with knitted brows. Q gave Bond a sheepish glance and said: “It was M. It was his idea to send the Morse code and to use the work lights. I had nothing to do with it.”

“Whose idea was it to get us onto the smaller track to slow her down?” asked Bond.

“Mine,” said Q.

“Well there you have it then,” said Bond. “You got the train slow enough, M worked out the message, team effort. Win-win. Go team.” He swallowed the last of his scotch and placed the glass down on the coffee table.

“I designed the AI that got you in that situation to begin with,” Q said.

“So?” said Bond. “It can still have a use, can’t it?”

“At this point, the whole project has been cancelled,” said Q. “That’s the other thing I had to tell you: they’ll be no need for either of us to go in tomorrow. The R&D sector is going to take the AI and the train apart and stick it all into storage.”

“Sorry you’ve lost your new toy, Q,” said Bond.

Q gave him a dirty look that made Bond smile. He couldn’t help it. “It was never a toy, 007,” said Q. “What are you grinning at?”

“You,” said Bond and he leaned in and kissed Q on the mouth. It was a soft but sudden kiss, lasting only a brief moment. In that moment, Q managed to look surprised and alarmed. At the end of the moment, Bond’s heart soared as he saw Q’s eyes glaze over for an instant.

Q blinked rapidly as he let go a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “007?” was all he could manage before Bond leaned in again and placed another kiss on his mouth. This one lingered deliciously. Bond raised a hand to cup Q’s face, humming his pleasure as he felt Q melt into him.

As the second kiss broke, Q couldn’t believe what was happening. He was trying to grasp the fact that Bond had kissed him twice. “What the hell are you playing at, 007?” he asked, clearly perturbed. It’s not so much that he minded being kissed, or that he minded being kissed by Bond, it was just that it was so completely sudden.

“For God’s sake, Q,” said James as he ran a thumb over Q’s lips, “Call me James, will you?”

“Nevermind that now,” said Q. He jerked away from James’ touch and put his hands up defensively. “I want an explanation for your behavior, 007. Now.”

Bond sighed and let his hands drop. He was hoping to convince Q with his kiss, but apparently Q didn’t speak that language – at least not very well. “You came here to ask my forgiveness for something that I don’t blame you for. Not anymore, anyway. The first half hour of it you were in my target sights; I’ll admit I was angry. But after a bit, I knew that it was the computer and not you – especially when it called me “Mr. Bond”.”

“Yes,” said Q, crossing his arms uncomfortably at the recollection.

“So after that point, I knew you were working to help me. I knew that whatever experiment you had hoped to conduct was a bust and you were trying to get me out,” continued Bond.

Q nodded but his eyes never met the agent’s. He was far too angry and more than a bit embarrassed. “So all that about me being disappointed that it didn’t kill you was all just to what? Make me angry? Make me feel more guilty than I already feel? If so, bravo. Well done you. Couldn’t have done it better myself.”

“Q--” began Bond.

Q held a hand up and his eyes finally met Bond’s with a mixture of anger and hurt that Bond never wanted to see. “I like you, 007. You’re a superlative agent. You’re precise and you can think on your feet when need be: all admirable traits in a field agent. I have rarely worked with better. That’s why I wanted you on this project and did what I could to secure you.” He closed his eyes and took a breath. Feeling his anger fade off, he continued: “M thought it a brilliant choice to get you on this, considering what Silva put you through, but he got it wrong. He thought that you had been damaged by Silva. You hadn’t. It was the old M’s death that weighed upon you. And it still does.” Here he took a sheepish yet concerned look at Bond’s features. He saw the agent’s brow knit and his eyes fall. “I knew you could handle the assignment because what has haunted you afterward wasn’t the chase through the Tube, it was the death of a woman who had become so significant in your life.”

“Q, stop,” said Bond weakly. Q could see the tears building in his eyes as Bond did his best to hold them back; it was subtle as hell, but Q could see Bond’s jaw working, his lips compressing, his eyes casting about.

Feeling bold, Q put a gentle hand to Bond’s face and drew his look to him. “I never got a chance to say this because you weren’t at the graveside, but… I am so sorry for your loss, James Bond.” Gently, almost gingerly, Q leaned in and placed his lips on Bond’s. Warmth filled both men as the meaning of this kiss spread from their hearts outward to one another. Slowly, Bond wrapped strong secure arms around Q’s chest and heads tilted outward to deepen the kiss. Soft tongues met and languorously entwined as Q’s fingertips caressed down Bond’s neck and across his shoulders, feeling the musculature beneath his silk shirt. Overcome, Bond let out a low sound and Q returned his own as he switched his head to the other side and continued the kiss. Q felt a strong hand massage his back as the other moved into his hair, carding fingers pulling softly through his thick black locks.

Another grunt from Bond and heat spread through the both of them as each man stood and attempted to press himself against the other, their building erections begging for the friction.

Breathing into each other’s mouths as they switched again, Q said: “I’d never been more frightened for you in my life, James. I’m so sorry.”

James kissed him again before saying: “No, Q. No more apologies from you.” He kissed him quickly and added: “I’m only sorry I didn’t do this sooner. I’ve wanted you for so fucking long.” He sucked a trail of kisses down Q’s neck to his collarbone, causing Q to gasp in surprise and his erection to harden even more. Q had a hand in Bond’s hair as he nibbled at the skin over the collarbone. He could feel Bond unbuttoning his shirt in order to gain access to the rest of his chest. He did nothing to stop him.

“You wanted me?” Q wondered aloud as Bond licked and sucked at Q’s collarbone. “More, more,” murmured Q, “Oh God… James.” His jumper vest and his shirt were completely unbuttoned in moments and Bond had violently pulled the shirt out from his trousers before flipping both articles of clothing off his shoulders and onto the floor. Bond backed away from a panting Q and stripped himself down to his smalls, never taking his eyes off his quartermaster.

For his part, Q removed his shoes and socks as he stared back at Bond. Awkwardly, Q asked: “Did you want me to…?” and pointed at his trousers.

Bond shook his head. “I like unwrapping my Christmas presents myself,” he said.

“But it’s May,” said Q playfully.

Bond shrugged. “Just getting a jump on December then.” He smirked.

Q smiled back and waited for Bond to finish. It was a pity that Bond wasn’t going more slowly with his undress. By the time he was finished, Q barely had time to take in the sight of him in his red silk boxer shorts. He did notice that Bond’s prominent erection was tenting the material and then Bond was against him once more, placing a kiss on his mouth that rendered him practically breathless.

If Q’s erection had flagged any in the brief separation, it was back in full force now. His hands couldn’t get enough of Bond’s skin; they were everywhere along his back, down his thighs, even to go so far as to snake under the material of the boxers to seek out the curve of his arse with probing fingertips.

“You wanted me?” Q repeated. He could barely believe what Bond had said. He wasn’t expecting something like that to come from him. The man was too aloof, too flippant. He could never feel deeply for anyone. He could never allow himself that weakness. It was too incredible. Something clicked over in Q’s brain: if Bond wanted him so damn badly, Q didn’t have to hide his desire for him any longer. He could give it free rein. Well… that was… very very good.

“Correction: Want,” replied Bond as he placed a soft, slow kiss on Q’s mouth. The taste of Q was mint and tea and something akin to warm wine. Bond couldn’t get enough. He wanted to know what Q tasted like everywhere. His hands drifted down Q’s slim torso to his waist and he could feel Q shiver when his fingertips followed the material along toward his buckle and flies. Bond took a peek at Q as they continued to kiss and his hands worked the buckle, loosening the strap. Eyes closed, Q looked perfectly lost to his desire: his dark eyelashes formed a striking contrast to his skin which, ordinarily a pale alabaster, appeared to have pinked up, flushed with building lust and eager anticipation of things to come. He looked fucking edible.

Bond let a hand drift upward to cup Q’s face while his other made short work of the remaining button and zipper of Q’s flies. Pulling back from the kiss, Bond watched with rapt fascination as Q’s unfocused eyes opened to find Bond staring back at him. The boy was practically debauched and Bond wanted to devour him whole. “You look well-fucked and we’ve barely begun, Q,” said Bond.

Q’s mouth curved up into a lazy smirk. “Just you wait, 007,” he said in a dusky voice, “I plan on rendering you speechless at least three times tonight.”

Bond’s eyebrow rose. “Is that a challenge?”

Q stared at Bond over the rim of his glasses. “Three. Times.” was all he said.

Bond’s mouth was suddenly dry. Q leaned in and licked Bond’s lips slowly, letting his tongue drag from bottom lip to top in the most lascivious way. Bond’s breath stuttered and he stared at Q. “That’s one,” said Q softly, a grin spreading across his face.

Q’s hands had been exploring Bond’s body since he had stripped off and rejoined him, but now they grabbed at Bond’s arse with a purpose. Q ground his cock against Bond’s erection and kneaded his arse, eliciting a moan from the both of them that made their dick’s throb harder. Bond leaned in for a kiss and Q jerked his mouth away, enjoying the power shift he had caused.

It was such a thrill for Q to finally have this man in his arms, hard cock ready to be sucked, and Bond eager for whatever happened next. Q had dreamt about having a strong steady relationship with the agent, but in the still dark of night and in the privacy of his own room, his hormones had occasion to take his simple longing and twist it into a passion play only seen in the most erotic pornography. But this time it was no dream. Bond was real and here and present and willing and Q wasn’t about to squander this opportunity to fuck the man through his mattress.

“I’ve never actually said this to anyone before, James,” said Q, his lust running at its peak, “but I have to tell you that when you finally take my god damned trousers off, I want you to take a good look at what I plan on fucking you with.” Bond grunted, half in disbelief, the other half with wantonness. “And then I want you to suck it,” added Q.

Bond squinted, his jaw dropping open. After a moment he said: “Aye, quartermaster.” Bond dropped to his knees, pulled off Q’s trousers, lowered his boxers, and placed Q’s dick in his mouth.

He swallowed him down as far as he could, sucking off and pulling away with a wet pop. “Fucking marvelous,” he murmured before taking him in again.

As Bond continued to suck him off, Q slowly extricated himself from his trousers and boxers which had pooled at his ankles so that they were both naked with the notable exception of Bond’s red boxers. Oh those would have to go soon, thought Q as he watched Bond’s head bob back and forth, cheeks hollowing, blue eyes staring, practically begging for Q’s approval. Q couldn’t help himself. He stroked Bond’s hair gently and said softly, “Good boy, James… Good boy…”

Bond responded with a low hum and his strong hands cupped Q’s arse, cradling his pelvis. Soon Bond’s hands were on Q’s hips to help control the instinctive thrusting Q was fighting to subdue. Q pulled Bond’s head off his cock gently and watched as a trail of precum wetly linked the tip of his dick to Bond’s pink mouth. “Oh God,” said Q. “Much more of that, James and I would have cum down your throat.”

Bond smirked. “I wouldn’t mind,” he said.

“But I would,” said Q. “Next time. Promise.”

Bond rose to his feet and kissed Q as slowly as ever, allowing his taste to mingle with their kiss.

“Your turn, James,” said Q. “On the bed. Now.”

Soon enough, Bond was on his back, legs spread with Q kneeling between his outspread knees, Bond’s clothed erection like a red silken tree between them. As he let his fingertips trace fire over Bond’s thighs, Q placed his mouth over the material and huffed hot breath along Bond’s shaft. He mouthed against his length, lightly grabbing at the cloth and his cock beneath. Bond’s hips shook and shivered with the act. A pool of precum was being soaked up by the silk in one spot and Q gave it a tentative lick. Bond let out a soft cry of want. Q pressed the tip of his tongue against the slit and worked it around in the wetness, enjoying Bond’s reactions to the sensory tease: he writhed, he moaned, he cried out Q’s name… It was utterly fantastic.

“Fuck, Q!” said James after a minute of this torture. “Either swallow me or fuck me or jerk me off. Do something! Anything! Please! I can’t stand it!”

Q pulled away long enough to say: “Hmm… all those years of training to resist torture and here you are giving in so quickly. I seriously fear for the safety of our country.”

Bond watched Q with bemused eyes and said: “So much for my brilliant career in espionage.”

By way of response to his sarcastic gibe, Q smiled and lowered his head to Bond’s balls. Placing his lips gently on his clothed scrotum, he hummed low and long, enjoying the resulting stream of cursing from Bond. He moved his mouth in the same manner up and down Bond’s shaft, root to tip, and thrilled to hear some of the more creative epithets Bond was clearly dredging up from his past in the Navy.

Suddenly, there was a heavy hand in Q’s hair as Bond’s need was too great for him to resist any longer. Q took one last opportunity to mouth gently over the clothed tip, licking and sucking the material to taste Bond’s precum. Finally Q carefully took the material in his teeth and pulled away and down to free Bond’s hardened and overwrought cock from the constraints of the material.

Bond had never had any lover take his clothes off with their teeth before. His face was a picture of shock and wonderment as he lifted his pelvis up and assisted in their removal. Q dragged those boxers down his body with just his teeth until they were past his feet and off of him. Q knelt up triumphantly, the red silk hanging from his mouth as he stared down possessively at him. Bond thought he had never seen Q look more fuckable then right at that very moment.

Slowly Q reached up and took the boxers from his mouth and threw them aside. “I plan on owning you with this fuck, James,” he said. “I hope you know that.”

Bond smirked. “I plan on owning you right back, Q,” he said. “After you’ve had your way with me, of course.”

“Condoms and lube?” asked Q. Bond obliged him by reaching into the bedside table drawer and withdrawing the items requested. “Right then,” said Q and he proceeded to push Bond’s knees to either side of his chest. Arms outstretched and hands propped against Bond’s thighs, Q dipped his head low and flicked small licks at Bond’s entire groin: scrotum, shaft, tip, joint of thigh and pelvis, arse cheeks, arsehole.

It was the rimming that did it. Bond cried out Q’s name so loudly that it startled them both. “Alright?” asked Q tentatively. He didn’t think he hurt Bond, but he wanted to be sure.

“Geh…ahm… deyeah… yeah… fine,” Bond managed.

“Hmm…” said Q cryptically. He leaned in again and gingerly prodded his tongue against Bond’s arsehole. The reaction was passionate but expected this time and Q took it as a sign to proceed. He lowered his head even more, bringing his hands down to push aside Bond’s arse cheeks as his tongue explored the rim and warmth inside.

Bond did his best to keep his legs out of the way by grabbing the underside beneath each knee and pulling them toward his chest. His hips rocked rhythmically toward the pressure of Q’s delicious red tongue and it was all Bond could do not to cum on the spot as he watched his quartermaster make a feast of his arse.

Bond leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of finally having Q where he’d always wanted him. He smiled at the thought of watching Q as he came inside him. God, that would be brilliant. He had never wanted anything so badly in his life.

As these thoughts occupied his mind, Bond didn’t realize that there was a warmth around his cock and pressure inside his arse that was beginning to build. He looked down and saw a very pleased Q swallowing his cock while simultaneously inserting a lubed finger into his arse. Great God in heaven, this was amazing. Slowly, Q’s red lips moved past his tip, tongue teasing the frenulum and slit and over the corona, inching its way down the shaft, tongue worming against his length as he swallowed. Bond could barely breathe.

Q didn’t stop until he had his nose buried in Bond’s thatch of blond hair. Bond couldn’t respond to this. The English language had evaded him completely. Q gave it a moment and pulled off, sucking hard along the length. He came off his dick with a wet sucking sound and took a breath. Green eyes blown dark, Q watched Bond’s reaction carefully and said: “That’s two.”

Bond laid his head against the pillow and panted as Q showed him the meaning of sucking dick. His method was slow and careful, not too much pressure, not too little, tongue used as a tool for stimulation when he so desired and soothing for when he needed to calm Bond’s level of climax.  
Bond didn’t think it was possible to make a man mad with just the use of a tongue, but Q succeeded on more than one level. There were no curses that could encapsulate the sensation of the fireworks shooting down his legs or the fire building behind his prick. He was going to cum and fast if Q persisted.

And then Q found Bond’s prostate.

Sparks flew before his eyes and Bond’s back arched without him realizing that he was reacting. Nothing intelligible came out of his mouth; the noise he made was barely human.

By this time, Q was working on his third finger inside Bond, opening him up nicely, when he grazed that little prominence with fingers slightly curled. It was the reaction he was hoping for. He quickly pulled off his cock and squeezed the base gently to stave off any climax, withdrawing his fingers at the same time. He rolled on a condom and before entering his beautifully debauched agent said to him pointedly: “That makes three, I believe.” And he pushed slowly into Bond.

The sweet sensation of the warmth of James Bond was headier than Q anticipated. It damn near took his breath away. Slowly he pressed in and waited for Bond to adjust, making his way carefully inside Bond. Once he was balls-deep, he waited yet again, watching Bond’s passion play out on his face. It was glorious.

“You are truly magnificent, James,” said Q reverently.

“And you are beyond gorgeous, Q,” said James. He took a moment to look down between them both, savoring the view, and added: “Please move, Q. I need you.”

Q responded and their bodies tromboned as if this was all they were put on this planet to do. Deep breaths mixed with soft moans as each man found bliss in the sensations of pressure and heat. Bond leaned upward and kissed him as deeply as he could, savoring the taste of this beautiful creature who had saved his life countless times. He truly did owe Q so very much. And he planned on repaying Q for the rest of his life with as much love as he could find to give. He only hoped that Q wouldn’t push him away after this encounter. He didn’t want to see him come to his senses tomorrow morning and call this a mistake.

As for Q, he was finally where he had always wanted to be. He felt desired, even revered by Bond. It was all his heart could hold and even more. As he moved in and out of this leonine man, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was a one-off or forever or something in between. He shoved the thought away as soon as it blossomed because madness that way lied. He didn’t want to be rejected by Bond. Or worse, he didn’t want to become another port of call for him; just one more name of a long list of lovers Bond could visit when he found it convenient. It was one thing to be desired, it was quite another to be truly loved.

But now was not the time to ask awkward questions. Their rhythm was breaking down. Q found himself pounding into Bond with a fierceness he didn’t know he possessed. Bond reeled at the sensation of being well-fucked by a red-lipped, fiery-eyed, tousle-haired slip of a boy whose every panting breath made him want to taste his mouth and take his essence with it.

Their climaxes hit simultaneously. Each man let out a cry and tried desperately to keep eye contact as the world tilted on its axis. Spent fluid flicked against Bond’s hand, abdomen and chest as he pulled the heavy ropes of cum from himself all the while watching his dark nubile beauty lose his mind above him. The trial over, Q collapsed heavily against Bond’s chest, smearing the cum between them.

Their breath was ragged and each man waited for the other to speak. Q found his voice first. “Alright?” he asked.

Bond didn’t answer. He just held up four fingers.

Q laughed. “What do I win?” he asked jokingly.

“Me,” managed Bond.

Q picked his head up a bit. “Are you being serious?”

Bond thought a moment, not daring to hope. Could it be that Q wouldn’t regret this? Could it also be that Q was hoping the same thing he was? He tentatively said: “I’m all yours, Q. If you’ll have me.”

Q’s face held a slightly shocked expression. “…have you?” he sputtered. He let out a frustrated sigh and kissed Bond thoroughly on the mouth. “You’re all mine. And I’m all yours. Alright?”

Bond’s grin said it all and his kissed his lover with every ounce of passion he could muster. The nightmare was over. He was out of purgatory and heading toward heaven with an angel to guide him.


End file.
